


Fever To The Form

by APerfectGrace



Series: 100 Kinks [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel!Reader, F/M, Grace Usage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Sex, Submission, angel!cas - Freeform, dom!reader, mentions of torture, sub!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APerfectGrace/pseuds/APerfectGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you the one they call Castiel?" "I am." "Well, then. On your knees, soldier."</p>
<p>Part of the 100 Kinks Challenge. #61 - Dom/Sub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever To The Form

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dominant, confident reader with a submissive Castiel who yearns to please her. As much as I luh-HUVE Dom!Cas, there needs to be more fics with dominant, confident readers. HELL YEAH.
> 
> Dark themes (references to punishment and torture). Oral sex, orgasm denial, full sex.
> 
> NOTE: The word 'eleison' comes from the Greek phrase 'Kyrie, eleison', which translates to 'Lord, have mercy'.
> 
> Well, never thought I’d write another fic as long as Salt n’ Lick, but here ya go. A different take on the dom/sub idea.

You were practically buzzing with anticipation, anger, and excitement.

Approximately two hours ago, you had received word from one of the foot soldiers of your garrison that they had succeeded in locating and capturing Castiel.

Your former second-in-command; once one of the most feared and revered of all of God’s angels. His knowledge and skills were unparalleled to most of Heaven. Bar you, of course.

When you had first entered Heaven’s ranks, you had shown excellent skills and promise, something that your superiors had been elated to discover very early on. You had excelled in everything: languages, military defence, aerial attack, grace manipulation, everything. When you were assigned your very first garrison, the first soldier they had placed under your command had been Castiel.

You had heard of him, back then. Similar excel, similar promise.

He had learned just as quickly as you; he was the epitome of Heaven’s warriors, and he had taken everything you had thrown at him, developing so fantastically well and sharpening his edges, truly earning his wings, so to speak.

Back then, you had been so proud you thought you would _burst_ with it; your perfect protégé.

You should have known it would eventually all crumble down.

But now? It was almost too good to be true.

They had _found_ him. He was being brought to you _immediately_.

That treacherous angel who had once served so willingly, so _complacently_ under your command, who had once followed orders without any preamble and question, who had seemed to revel in your position over him, almost to a _self-indulgent_ degree.

That angel who had somehow managed to, over the years, dig and burrow under your skin, making you restless, making you feel…

But after the infiltration of Hell to save the Righteous Man, he had formed dangerous relationships with the famous Winchester brothers, had gone off on his own and in so doing, had caused the downfall of his own kind.

Angels were dividing against their own instead of uniting against their enemies, the demons had littered the earth like a festering plague, Hell was taking over, and order had transcended into chaos.

And _Castiel_ …

Well, _he_ had betrayed his own kind with lies and deceit, indulged in hedonistic dealings with the King of Hell, had unleashed the Leviathans and, worst of all, had been one of the key elements that had resulted in The Fall.

_The Fall_.

You gritted your teeth at the thought, anger simmering just under the surface of your skin.

Civil war had broken out amongst angels who had become humans, and you had lost many of your brothers and sisters as a result, some even from your own unit.

It was a monstrous, bloody time where there had seemed to be little hope of salvation.

But finally, _finally_ , against the odds, Metatron had been captured and enslaved, the angels had slowly started to return to Heaven, and peace was once more overlaying the once bloody battlefields of the holy grounds.

Of course, that was massively helped by the fact that you were in charge of the whole operation; a role you would not have had to take on had Castiel not turned from his true calling.

No matter.                                                 

There was only one way to deal with such disloyalty and sheer insolence.

\---

Castiel is taken to the Room of Retribution.

In all the millennia of Heaven’s existence, this room has only been used a select handful of times.

It is a place reserved for only the highest of blasphemers and traitors.

To be summoned to that room means to have committed the most heinous of crimes, and Castiel cannot help the jolt of fear and dread spark through him as he is elevated (flanked by no less than a dozen angels of all various ranks and sizes) to its location.

It sits on one of the highest points of Heaven.

It is not so much a room, as much as a huge platform that hovers in the air. It is roofed by an enormous, transparent dome that is intertwined with colourful, glowing symbols in Enochian and Ancient Greek and Latin and every type of language applicable (both earthly and supernatural; demonic, humanoid and angelic). These symbols pulse like a bright beacon, humming lowly with power and energy.

It is designed much like a greenhouse; there are no walls, just the translucent curve of its dome. All those inside can see across Heaven for miles and miles. However, its design carries some advantageous feats. For example, even though its domed roof is see-through, the room frazzles one’s sensory perceptions so that one cannot see either within or outside of it. Similarly, one cannot hear outside of the dome, nor within. It is to protect celestial beings from witnessing the uppermost wrath of God’s unworthy, and to isolate those about to receive their due penance.

As Castiel is transported (shackled in Enochian-engraved bonds that keep him powered down), he briefly wonders just who exactly is waiting for him inside that room.

\---

The way into the Room of Retribution was by two elements: blood and grace.

The grace was from you, and the blood was from Castiel. This allowed you to keep your celestial powers, all the while diminishing his.

Significant for one about to receive punishment, and the other to bestow it.

When you had reached the room, it had required you to donate a miniscule amount of grace into a small depository haloed by a long Enochian prayer. This was to be fed into the very heart of the dome itself, meshing into the protective wards and therefore allowing the room to recognise you as a persecutor. This meant that your grace, your powers, everything, would stay intact, allowing you to administer the rightful castigation.

On the flipside, the same depository would require a sample of Castiel’s blood, acknowledging him as a perpetrator and therefore stripping him down to a mere mortal soul, void of anything celestial residing within him, rendering him incapable of self-defence and vulnerable to all types of punishment.

Another neat little trick that the room held was that it melded the inhabitants into the bodies of their current vessels. That, coupled with diminished grace, meant that offenders had to rely on human normalities to ensure their vessel’s continuation, functions such as breathing and rest, rather than having grace that took care of the vessel’s wellbeing for them. It also opened them up to humane peculiarities such as sensory sensations like pain and adrenaline.

The reason for the amalgamation was simple yet fairly brutal; it allowed for easier, more effective punishment. Human forms were so fragile, easily broken when flogged, or beaten; the skin split open like a hot knife through butter. Bones snapped, blood ran, pain blossomed, screams filtered the air…

It was not referred to as the Room of Retribution for nothing.

Once a prisoner had entered the room, they were unable to leave without your permission. Your consent was a safe word randomly generated by the room itself that made itself known to you once you deposited your grace into the reservoir. You and you alone knew that word, and you were the only way out.

In essence, Castiel had no chance of escape, both physically and emotionally.

You were currently awaiting in the room, your eye roving over three simple features within it: a table, a chair, and metal shackles that were welded into the floor. Simple, yet effective instruments in the art of torture. Should you need more, you could conjure them from thin air, but as you cast a glance across the objects, you deemed them good enough to get a decent head start.

Noises suddenly originated from outside, and your head turned to the source of the noise. You listened intently, the low bark of one your garrison followed by a curt, angry noise that you instantly recognised as Castiel’s voice, sending a sharp thrill through you.

You had not heard that voice for a very, very long time.

A small scuffle seemed to unfold, followed by a sudden pained grunt. You could only assume that the blood part of the initiation had been completed because the room suddenly brightened, buzzing angrily as the essence of Castiel seeped into its frame.

The entrance opened, and Castiel was forcibly shoved inside, stumbling over his feet and glaring over his shoulder at the group of angels now fading from view. The entrance disappeared, effectively locking them out and him in.

Your garrison were not permitted into the room, instead remaining guard outside for when you were done. The Room of Retribution only ever recognised two beings at the same time, and as such you had taken great deliberation in making sure that it was _you_ responsible to deal with Castiel’s punishment.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself as your gaze roved over the angel who had once served under you.

Regaining his posture, Castiel looked up, blood draining from his face at the sight of you leant against the table, arms crossed, ankles crossed, regarding him with a neutral expression. Your eyes briefly flickered to the deep, red gash across the palm of his right hand.

When your glances met a cold smile tinted your mouth. “Hello, Castiel.”

He did not say anything for a long while.

“Y/N,” he finally responded in a quiet tone, body tensing.

The air was static, and not just with anticipation.

It was no secret that there had once been a certain chemistry between you and your second.

Back then, there had always been this unspoken… _electricity_ between you two: when you had sparred, when you had discussed tactics at length, when you had binded each other’s wings after an intense battle. The air had always been tangible when you caught him staring at you a little too long, a little too intensely, unbridled emotion written in those eyes for a split second.

He had followed you blindly, and you couldn’t deny the thrill of his constant and easy submission to you. If you were honest, his feelings were more than reciprocated.

Castiel had been the perfect soldier, the perfect angel, the perfect _everything_. Sometimes the burn for him was so overwhelming that you thought it would consume you, a need that you couldn’t understand – a need to feel him against you, but not because of war, because of _passion_.

Sometime your thoughts would run awry, twisting darkly into blurry, heated images of Castiel’s hands on your body, his mouth hot against your ear, his body rocking desperately into you…

You were going to confess to each other once, a long time ago, but the news that Dean Winchester was in Hell had infiltrated through the heavens like wildfire, and all feelings were roughly pushed aside and locked away in order to save the Righteous Man.

The rest was history.

However, studying him as you did now, you couldn’t help but feel those once-dormant feelings begin to bubble under the surface, and you uncrossed your ankles.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to the chair.

His eyes swivelled to where you were pointing, but he made no indication to move.

Your chin dipped down an inch and you regarded him heavily, taking satisfaction in the flash of uncertainty across his face. “I will not ask you again, Castiel.”

Tense and afraid, his jaw ticked before he began to shuffle over to the chair, metal chains clinking as he gingerly lowered himself into it, his handcuffed hands resting against the strong lines of his thighs, a sight that made your pulse jump.

“You look…” His eyes were roaming your form, apprehension mixed with a faint stirring of long-forgotten feelings. It sent a faint shiver down your spine, and you could feel a cold tremble ripple softly through your body. “Well,” he finished simply.

“As do you,” you replied nonchalantly. “I see that your dealings with Crowley and Metatron served you rather well.”

At the mention of them, a multitude of emotions sped across Castiel’s face: pain, regret, sadness, anger…

“Y/N,” he tried to explain, starting to rise out of his chair.

“I said _sit_ ,” you snapped viciously, a sharp flick of your wrist rendering him unable to move.

Your grace pinned him against the chair, shock sparking through him at the sudden force. He tried to struggle against your power but it was no use; he was stuck. You pushed yourself off of the table and began to walk towards him, slow and deliberate, making sure that he saw everything, and he stopped squirming when you neared him, chains tinkling.

Silently, you clasped his wrist and raised it, your angel hearing picking up the miniscule pull of air that he sucked in between his teeth as his chin raised up to look at you, and his soft, tanned hand twitched in your own. Your eyes lowered to take in the raw, angry wound splitting his palm in half, blood seeping from it.

The Room only required the barest of blood deposits, but this wound had been made more in malice than necessity.

To a degree, you understood. Many angels had bitter feelings towards Castiel for his betrayal; it was only natural that some of that displeasure would bleed through, and you supposed that you would have taken the opportunity yourself to inflict some pain had you been in their position.

Nevertheless, his punishment was _your_ responsibility, not theirs. You would have to talk to them later on. After all, what use was castigation if the perpetrator had already been chastised?

The grace that was enveloping Castiel simmered down, re-routing to his injured hand, and he watched you as you slowly healed it, the cut disappearing almost instantly, the flesh good as new.

You released your grace binding him to the chair and he keened forward, having held himself tense against your power, but he caught himself at the last moment before he fell over and sat up straight, staring up at you.

“You could have left it unhealed. Used it against me as a point of weakness,” he stated as calmly as if one was discussing the weather, refocusing himself.

“True,” you mused, “but just because you are healed in body, doesn’t mean that you are saved. Do you remember why?”

He nodded, rubbing the spot where the wound had once been, phantom pain swirling within it. “Healing wounds allows you to inflict more. By re-opening the skin, you flay the accused emotionally. You break them down much more effectively.”

You smiled in spite of yourself, gazing down at the top of his dishevelled hair. He had slotted into the role of perfect, obedient student so rapidly, so _easily_ that it made you glow. “I wonder who taught you that.”

He suddenly glanced up, big, expressive eyes boring into your own. “The best.”

You laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Castiel.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he said evenly, his jaw set straight.

“You do have a point.”

“Y/N, I need to confess something to you,” he carried on, his brow creasing as he glanced up at you. “And I need to do it now, before I – before.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight to make your hip pop out as you peered down at him curiously, your interest piqued. “Oh?”

Was there more to his trysts with the King of Hell and Metatron than you were led to believe? Had you missed something?

He scrutinised the curve of your hip, mouth open a fraction. “I was going to tell you, about how I felt about you. I was actually going to tell you before… before the mission to raise Dean Winchester out of Hell. But I didn’t find the courage until it was too late, and then things worsened.”

_Ah_. Perhaps not.

You stayed silent, unaware that you were holding your breath as he carried on. “I… I wanted you, Y/N. I have always wanted you, as much now as I did back then. I never really understood how, or why, but you were always so different, so _strong_ … You captivated me from the very beginning. I know it’s selfish of me to say this, now of all times, but I wanted you to know. One of my biggest regrets was not telling you that sooner.”

White hot anger welled up inside you as you felt his words play your heart like a chord. You didn’t _want_ him to affect you, you didn’t _want_ to feel anything for him, and most of all you didn’t _want_ his words to connect with you so well.

What _could_ have been was a far cry from what _was_ , and you resented him bitterly for it.

So much for regrets; he had chosen his path. If you had been that important to him he would never have betrayed you.

You had had _enough_.

“You think playing on feelings will save you?” you said in a low, irate tone.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. Perhaps he had not expected this reaction. “That’s – That’s not what I’m doing, Y/N –”

He went to get up, but you moved your hand across the air once more; a sharp, angry motion. Grace suddenly appeared and locked him against the chair, strapping his ankles to the wooden legs and his wrists by his sides, drawing the chain linking them taut.

“You forget your place, Castiel,” you barked scathingly. “You forget your rank. You forget your wrongdoings. You forget the room that you are held in. And most of all, _you forget who you are dealing with_.”

“Y/N –” His voice edged to a tone of desperation. You clenched a hand, and your grace coiled around his mouth tightly, rendering him speechless.

His eyes widened in fear, and you watched the rise and fall of his chest with little attention, too furious to care. Your grace buzzed angrily around him, pulsating in tune with your warring feelings.

“ _Quiet_. This is not a case. This is not where you are allowed to explain your actions in the hopes of salvation. You are _guilty_. There is _no_ exception. It was _I_ who re-built Heaven after your sanctimonious affiliation with Metatron. It was _I_ who had to deal with the aftermath of your abhorrent relationship with Crowley. It was _I_ who the angels turned to when they had no hope left. _I_ had to re-make what you destroyed. Therefore, _I_ am the one who will exact your punishment. After, and _only_ after, will you learn the fate that awaits you. Your judgement has already been decided and you will learn of it, once I am done with you.”

You were so livid he could practically feel your fury swarming around him. His eyes flickered, haze clouding his vision. Your own sight fell to the line of his throat as his mouth moved noiselessly against the gag of grace, your domineering presence and sharp accord affecting him in a way that you had never seen before, in a way that intrigued you greatly. You noted the way he shifted against his bonds, his knees spreading a fraction wider than before thanks to your grace, his breath coming out harder than necessary.

You could sense his fear, his trepidation – all angels could read emotion – but now there was something else underlying the current of them: arousal.

Castiel was _aroused_.

You could see it in the way he shifted minutely, like his body was suddenly too tight, too hot to hold him still. You noticed it in the way his eyes seemed to fall out of focus, rings of hot blue trained solely on you, and the way he was breathing harshly through his nose, like he was affected all over. Your display not only frightened him; it _excited_ him.

_Interesting._

Could it be that your dominance aroused him?

He always did seem so willing to follow your orders, the way he obeyed you with this look on his face like he almost enjoyed it, like it brought him _pleasure_ …

And at that your rage died down, simmering gently in the pit of your stomach and clearing the red fog clouding your mind, therefore allowing you to think carefully about what would happen next.

Perhaps…

Perhaps you could use that against him. Perhaps could give Castiel a taste of what he wanted, of what he _could_ have had, mayhap for all eternity, had he stayed true.

Just a sample, a fragment of what he craved, and then…

Then you would kill him.

No, wait.

Then he would have to watch from afar, observe as you carried on your duties in Heaven, paying him no heed and leaving him and his feelings behind, like he had once done to you.

Maybe that was the _real_ castigation, the ultimate crack that could shatter the glass. For him to have a glimpse of what he so desperately wanted, only for him to have it ripped away from him… it would break him.

To know, but to never _fully_ know… perhaps that was the true torture.

Besides, there was no denying to yourself that you would be benefiting from this exchange.

Despite your fury at him, your disappointment, your resentment, you could have, for once, what _you_ desired in a disguise as something else. You could be selfish for once, you could think about yourself for once; not about your garrison, or the remainder of the angels, or Heaven.

You could learn what his mouth felt like against yours, what his body felt like sliding against yours, what your name sounded like in the throes of his pleasure…

No one would ever find out; no one would ever have to know.

Just you, and Castiel.

_Yes_.

You made your way back over to him once more, your walk transforming into a gentle saunter, defining the curves of your body, and he swallowed against the grace gagging him as he watched you, the arousal pulsing harder within him.

You paused in front of him, gently bending down to touch your hands to his knees, giving him a spectacular view of your chest. You fought a smile as his eyes swivelled down to your form, a fresh wave of arousal leaking through his unease.

He wanted you, but he was afraid of you.

And quite rightly so.

You leant into him, your fingertips grazing the clothed ridges of his thighs, feeling the heat from his skin burn through the fabric, and adopted a low, gentle tone. “Was I not a good teacher, Castiel? Did I not aid you at every turn? Did I not raise you from the bottom of my ranks to become my right hand? Did I not give you every opportunity I could afford you? Is that how you pay my kindness? With betrayal and the blood of your own kind? What did we do to you to deserve this?”

His face burned with shame and self-loathing even as want coursed powerfully through his veins, and he shook against his restraints. You walked your fingers up his legs, edging closer, feeling the muscles twitch.

“Are you asking me for leniency, Castiel? Are you asking me to spare you? To let you free? Do you think your sins have been forgiven? Do you think you have done enough penance?”

His eyes closed in pain, and he sucked air raggedly through his nose. His arousal burned under your skin, making you itchy and restless but you forced it back down, unwilling to show him the effect of his emotions upon you.

“You will look at me when I speak to you,” you commanded softly, his eyes opening even as you said it, and you couldn’t help but smile disdainfully.

_Such an obedient little soldier._

“I taught you everything I knew. I trained you so that you could have one day been even higher than me. You would have been revered, respected amongst your fellow brothers and sisters. Instead, you mixed with humans and demons and soiled the good name of our Father.”

Your hands idly stopped short of the junction between his thighs and groin, and you savoured the groan that escaped his bonded mouth. You leant forward so close your noses practically touched, and you watched his pupils dilate with rapt fascination. His excitement pulsated brightly, swarming thickly in your mind.

“So, tell me, when your successor repays you with the worse kind of heresy, what are you supposed to do?”

He stared back at you, blinking. The arousal emanating from him was almost cloying, his need for you becoming bigger and insatiable.

You wiggled your fingers and the grace against his mouth became slack before disappearing altogether. “Answer me.”

He responded by surging forward and crashing his lips against yours, passionate and hot and unbridled.

His kiss took you by such surprise that you completely lost control of your grace, the glowing light fizzling into nothingness and effectively freeing Castiel, who promptly raised his arms and threw his chain over your head, grasping it and jerking it tight against your back to wrench you into his lap.

You forgot all semblance of the situation at the sensation of Castiel’s mouth finally on your own, your lips automatically melding against his like they were made to be his and his alone. He moaned shamelessly into your mouth, the chain growing slack as his hands let go of it to roam the plane of your back. Your body felt electrified, nerves heightened by the feel of him against you and the taste of him in your mouth, all those feelings you had pressed down for so long suddenly splitting and cracking and bursting open, and your fists coiled tightly around the collar of his trench coat, the tip of your tongue against the rim of his lip as heat seared right through you, years of tension finally working in overdrive.

It took several moments before you eventually managed to get a hold on yourself and broke away unexpectedly, relishing the noise of wanting he let out as you did so.

“You forget your place,” you repeated against his lips, only much softer than before.

“I know,” he admitted, eyes heavily lidded. “I lost my way.”

“You left me.” You looked at him, and felt the familiar waves of resentment sitting in your chest. It sounded petulant to say, but it was true, and it had hurt. It still did.

“It’s something I truly, truly regret, Y/N,” he replied desperately, forehead resting against yours. “I have committed so many crimes against Heaven, I am guilty of everything you accuse me of, and I will receive my punishment gladly, as I deserve, but _please_ , let me make it up to you. Let me try.”

You did have a duty to uphold. If you wanted to improve Heaven, you needed to show that betrayers did not go unpunished. On the other hand, that wasn’t to say that you couldn’t have what you wanted in the process.

“What would you have from me, Castiel? How would you try to put things right?”

Right for whom? For Heaven? Or for _you?_

“Let me please you,” he breathed, looking up at you pleadingly as his fingers skimmed the small of your back, and you stopped breathing, body flaring harshly with raw need. “If you’re going to torture and kill me, and I wouldn’t blame you, allow me to taste your skin just once. Please, let me taste Heaven before I go to Hell.”

_Oh_. Turned out that Castiel was quite the smooth talker if he chose to be, his request setting fire through your veins and making your body grow aroused and wet.

Despite your eagerness to agree (and the irritation that sparked at that confession), you instead adopted a casual stare, pretending to think about it as you scrutinised him intensely. You removed yourself from his grasp, getting off his lap and standing back up over him. Hurt flitted across his face, but he stayed silent, waiting for your answer.

“Should you choose to change your path of retribution to one of a more… bloody manner, I will allow you to use a safe word in order to do so. Make no mistake, Castiel, you will receive punishment. You will do penance. But, you are our Father’s child, and as such, I will be lenient enough to give you a choice. I will give you what you want, but it is to be carried out on my terms, and my terms alone.”

He nodded earnestly, sitting up straight, his body taut with excitement.

“Choose your safe word,” you ordered him, your demeanour cool and collected.

It took him a few moments to think of one. “Eleison,” he finally said, cheeks warm.

You couldn’t help but smile in amusement at that. “ _Have mercy_ ,” you translated with a murmur. “How fitting.”

Colour burned the apples of his cheeks and he pointedly avoided your gaze.

You gestured impatiently. “Rise.”

He dutifully did as told, standing up slowly. You stepped away from him, moving over to the metal shackles on the floor, motioning for him to follow you. He did so, walking on shaky legs across the room towards you.

When he reached you, you halted him with a raised palm, and he stopped in front of you. At this vantage he was taller than you, but that didn’t faze you for one second – real power lay in mind, not body. He stared down at you, waiting anxiously for what would happen next. You rotated your right hand slowly and your grace shimmered into view to raise the floor restraints up to click around Castiel’s wrists, his original ones unlocking and hitting the ground with a sharp, metallic noise as the new ones replaced them. You flicked them away from you both with barely any effort.

This turn of events now left Castiel chained to the floor, confined to a few meters of leeway. He looked down at his hands in bewilderment, unaware of where this was heading. A small amount of nervousness spiked through his arousal, and you felt triumph, smugness seeping into your smile you gave him.

This had the possibility to be _extremely_ entertaining.

“For the benefit of Heaven, you will now confirm yourself.” It was a small tradition carried out when administering justice, and was one that you had no intention of stopping now.

You slinked closer to him, so close you were almost chest to chest, and you felt his arousal thick and elevated. Stretching your throat, you raised the volume of your voice, words ringing loud and clear, almost as if you were addressing the vast cavern of the room. “Are you the one they call Castiel?”

He nodded, hesitant and so wonderfully submissive. “I am.”

Ah, you were going to enjoy this immensely.

“Well then,” you said, smirking, “On your knees, soldier.”

He afforded you an expression of confusion for a split second before it dawned on him and his lips parted a fraction in understanding, before he lowered his head in submission and dropped to his knees gracefully, breath ragged and uneven as he tilted his head back up to blink up at you.

He was so incredibly beautiful.

His vessel was indeed aesthetically gifted, that much was true, but the benefit of being an angel meant that you could see true forms, and Castiel’s was exceptionally magnificent. It stole your breath away.

“Is this what you truly want, Castiel?” you enquired lowly, hand tracing the line of his jaw.

He answered by turning his head and kissing your palm, adoration in his gaze, making you throb between your legs.

“Very well.”

Your hand snaked up to grip his hair firmly and he let out a tiny, surprised sound at the knee-jerk action, your eyes following the slow bob of his throat.

“Then show me. Pleasure me with your mouth,” you told him, his eyes dilating at the instruction, “and do not stop until I instruct you to.”

You released his head and he fell forward, catching himself at the last moment and repositioning himself, restraints clanking weakly and chest heaving. He took a second to compose himself before he shuffled forward a fraction on his knees, bringing him level with your groin.

He tipped his head back to regard you with wide, expressive eyes, before lowering them back down again to his target, and his breathing stuttered as his hands began to skim the back of your calves, touring the smooth skin of your legs up, up, up until he found the hem of your skirt, chains creaking with the movement. He swallowed hard, the action fascinating you, and his hands paused for a millisecond before he gathered the fabric in his fingers, lifting it up and bunching it over the dip of your hipbones and revealing the planes of your skin to his rapt attention.

His eyes fell on the white lace covering your groin, moan caught in the back of his throat at the sight of where the material became wet at the centre of your legs. He moved forward to tentatively mouth over your underwear, breath ringing hotly over your sex, tongue tracing your slit through your underwear and making your skin prickle pleasantly.

He redirected himself to plant chaste kisses along the line between your thighs and core, lips warm and wet and feeling so _right_ on your burning skin. He seemed content for just learning your flesh with his mouth, but a swift tap on his head pulled him back to the matter at hand.

You felt a smooth, warm thumb hook into the lace just above the cleft of your sex, barely grazing your skin, feeling it wrap around the flimsy material and gently drag it to the side, exposing your wet flesh to him without the definitive removal of your underwear.

A sharp intake of breath had you averting your attention down to see his face awed and slightly captivated at the sight of you aroused and sensitive for him, though you would have never admitted it had he asked you. A shift in sight revealed to you his own evident arousal straining at the front of his pants, and you felt yourself salivate, arrogantly prideful that you were able to affect him so well.

He inched forward, mouth so close to your skin he could have kissed the swell of your aching bud. His warm breath fanned over it instead, both a caress and a shell of it at the same time. His lips parted wider and he gave you a soft, tentative lick to test the waters, blinking at the way your body locked up at his touch. He took this as a good sign, pursing his lips around your clit in a soft ring and giving the barest of sucks, tongue pushing past his lips to trace and lap at your wet, heated flesh.

His arousal amplified at the first full taste of you, washing over you and nearly suffocating you as he flattened his hands against your skin with a ghost of a groan, one thumb still holding your underwear away from you and the other hand securing your skirt above your groin. He licked languid and slow, savouring the moment that he might never have again as a pleased, breathless sound left you at the questing mouth between your legs.

He shifted on his knees, sitting back on his heels to get more comfortable, a notion which you found oddly arousing. His head tipped back as he went to work in between your legs, leaving no part of you untouched from his eager lips and tongue, and every so often he would let out a small, filthy moan, his excitement tangible in the air as you allowed him to pleasure you thoroughly.

In one swift movement, you raised a leg to rest your thigh on his shoulder whilst your hand slid to cup the back of his neck and push him further into your wet flesh, making him let out a breathy little sound at the display of dominance.

“Like you mean it, Castiel,” you murmured, amusement tinting your voice, “or I’ll be forced to change my mind.”

He surged further forward with a soft sound, lips and teeth and tongue finding every crevice of the apex of your legs: flicking your clit with his tongue, mouthing hotly across your soaked slit, biting gently on the smooth skin of your inner thighs, low, depraved moans vibrating against your form, and you could feel yourself ache and quiver with pleasure.

The hand holding your skirt let go to skim indulgently across the thigh banding his broad shoulder, and he susurrated desperately against your skin as your fingers threaded through the soft curls at the nape of his neck, hips pitching shallowly against his mouth to add deeper friction, the sensation shooting up your spine.

The hand at the base of his neck glided upwards to tightly grip his head, and a deep, quavering noise escaped him as you forced his head back to look him in the eyes.

He was breathing heavily, the blue of his vessel’s eyes were clouded with lust and lidded and his mouth was half open from where he was breathing through his mouth as opposed to his nose. You felt your body constrict at the sight of his lips red and wet and swollen, the slickness of you making his mouth and chin shine.

“How do I taste, Castiel?” you asked him almost sweetly.

He groaned in pleasure, head lolling to the side and resting against your thigh. “Perfect,” he said hoarsely, breath ghosting over your skin.

“Oh?”

He licked his lips, eyes shuttering at the taste of you on them. Heat spiked through your legs at the sight. “Being able to – being _privileged_ to see you like this, it’s… it’s more than I could have ever hoped for. More than I ever deserve.”

A small laugh bubbled in your throat as the pads of your fingers tickled his chin, your leg dropping off of his shoulder. “Then I suggest you continue while you have the chance,” you commented airily, pulling his head back in.

He murmured in agreement, delving forward to suck lightly at your bud, making a soft sigh escape your lips.

After a while of just savouring the sensations his mouth left on you, you decided to play with him a little.

He was currently running his tongue along the seam of your wet folds; you took a step backwards and in so doing put a breath of distance between you both.

His brows knit in confusion and his glance flickered up to you before he shuffled forward, mouth trying to curve around you again. But, you kept stepping back, making him move more and more. However, while he shifted forward with the main drive of his body, the chains bounding his arms held him still and therefore pulled his wrists behind him, even while his torso kept gravitating towards you. This left him craning forward towards your wet sex, his arms pulled taut behind him, and a noise of pleading curled from him, frustration written across his face.

“Y/N,” he said, struggling, “I don’t understand why you’re moving away from me.”

You remained silent, a coy smile on your lips as you toyed with him.

The desperation on his face deepened, and his restraints tinkered loudly as he shifted. “I can’t reach you anymore.”

“Perhaps you need to try a little harder,” you stated nonchalantly.

After a few moments of doing just that, he grunted audibly. “I _can’t_.”

“Being immobilised will do that to you,” you explained patiently, almost as if addressing a child. Your fingers wiggled across the band of your underwear and his eyes followed the movement almost greedily, a fresh wave of hunger feeding through his frustration. “Had you followed your orders, you wouldn’t be in this mess now, would you?”

His head snapped up to look at you, and you felt a pulse of dark guilt eat through him. He wisely stayed quiet, head lowering back down to stare at the floor.

“Perhaps you should ask me to come closer, Castiel,” you probed him provocatively.

He obeyed immediately. “Please, come closer,” he said, voice grating.

“Ask nicely,” you teased him, your sex millimetres from his mouth and your fingers dipping into your underwear.

“Y/N,” he groaned, tone sincere, “I _beg_ of you. Please, come closer.”

You ignored his pleas, instead looking down at him with a small smile as you slipped your fingers into yourself, making him watch as you pleasured yourself, not so much to find release but more to gain a reaction.

He reacted, all right.

His mouth dropped open a fraction, an agonising moan rising. His face was flushed, his hair was dishevelled and he was breathing so hard were he not an angel it would have worried you. His stare was wide and hungry, and his arousal was pulsing so hard you could practically feel the beat of it in your ears.

You eventually pulled your fingers out of yourself with a breathy noise, moving forward to ring his mouth with your wet hand. Shock and pleasure sparked intensely through him as his eyes lidded over, mouth twitching as you traced his lips with your own wetness. After a moment, his lips were pulling your fingers into his hot, wet mouth with a little suction. He sucked eagerly at your fingers as you watched him lick them clean, eyes never leaving his. As he did so you moved closer towards him, sliding him gently backwards across the hard floor until the chains of his restraints became slack, giving his arms a rest.

You removed your hand from his mouth with a slick sound and hoisted your leg back onto his shoulder. His hand was gripping you tightly once more and his mouth was on your sex before you could even blink.

You allowed yourself to sink into the feeling his delicious mouth was giving you, your body flashing hot and cold all over. You marvelled at the angel beneath you, the same one you had seen tear creatures apart with his bare hands and decimate demons with his grace, the one you now had tracing your heated flesh with soft sucks and languid licks and tentative touches. It was a rather lovely juxtaposition to note, sending a spark of warmth into your stomach.

Pretty soon, you could feel your body wind tighter, the urge for release overwhelming and imminent. Your hips pitched against him of their own accord, the pleasure rapidly building.

It was almost as if Castiel could sense it, because he began to work faster against your moving hips, tongue circling in harder, more defined strokes, thumbs drawing small circles into your flesh, soft lips pursed firmly around your sensitive skin.

You came with a soft cry, vision whiting out and hands buried tight in his head as he kept on licking and tasting you, accentuating your orgasm as a result. He was groaning softly against you throughout, and you felt a wisp of pride bleed through his arousal at the fact that he had been the one to bring you to such heights of pleasure.

Eventually, your hips slowed down to a stop, body tingling all over, and you didn’t remember when you had closed your eyes but you opened them now, heart thumping at Castiel staring up at you through heavy, lusted eyes, mouth open and wet.

He looked so decadent it made your body shiver.

Your leg slowly slipped off of his shoulder and you pulled back a fraction, watching with acute interest as he dragged his tongue over his slick lips, drawing them into his own mouth with a gentle, loud suck, making no effort to be quiet about the fact that he was lapping up your wetness off of himself.

A flush rose in his cheeks. “I… enjoy your taste,” he said by way of explanation.

“A job well executed, Castiel,” you remarked coyly, as if you were talking about one of your missions from the old days and not about the fact that he had pleasured you so well with his mouth. “You have more to do, however. Rise.”

It took him a moment to process what you had said and re-orientate himself, pushing off his heels up to standing position, swaying a little at the abrupt movement. Your eyes fell to the erection tenting the front of his pants, and he followed your gaze, swallowing hard at the sight of himself. You shot him a warning glance and he understood, keeping his hands firmly away from himself.

“I’m going to remove your handcuffs now,” you told him, gesturing for him to offer his wrists, “but do not think that that will give you the advantage here. You are still powered down unless I release you from this room. Any attempt to fight against me will result in some very unpleasant experiences for you.”

“I understand,” he answered solemnly.

Despite the turn of events that was happening here, Castiel was not an idiot. He knew that the tables could turn for him within seconds should he take one wrong step towards you. Besides, why would he, when you were indulging in what you now knew was his deepest fantasy?

You spread your fingers wide and his restraints snapped open, falling to the floor in a cacophony of noise. He sighed, relieved, rubbing his wrists from where they were chafing from the metal that had bounded him.

You left him there and headed towards the desk. After a moment of hearing just yourself move, you turned and crooked your finger at him, the command unspoken. He followed obediently, eyes alight with anticipation as he shadowed you over to the desk. As you reached it you turned on your heels, expression sultry as you slowly levered yourself upward to sit on the desk. He stared at you, his eye-line drifting across the curves of your body, and you could see his hands twitch slightly as he did so.

“Would you care to use your hands this time, Castiel?” you asked him, tone saccharine.

He nodded fervently, eyes touring your body again. Heat rolled off of him in waves, thick and heavy – you could practically feel him salivating.

“Come here,” you instructed him, spreading your legs open and indicating to the space between them.

He let out a soft, agonising moan at the action, his mind wandering to much more sinful actions involving the spreading of your legs. His erection was hard and prominent in the front of his slacks as he shuffled forward to situate himself between your thighs, body quivering with the effort of restraining himself, making you smile.

It was amusing that the angel who annihilated demons with a flash of his hand was the same one before you now, trembling and beseeching your attention. It made you feel powerful, in a completely different way than you were used to.

Wordlessly, you gripped the back of his hands, the tendons in them jumping at the unexpected contact. Ignoring that, you pulled them towards your own body and placed them onto the flat of your thighs, his fingers sliding across the heat of your skin, and you felt his arousal _surge_. Leaning up to him, you encouraged his hands higher as you conducted your own exploration of his mouth, stretching to kiss him gently as you wrapped your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He groaned again, a raw, lustful sound, but kissed you back with vigour, mapping out every corner of your mouth, the faint tang of you still on his tongue.

Your hands, still guiding his own, moved them towards your hips, and you sensually moved him across every plane of your body: the bow of your hips, the dip of your navel, the ridges of your ribs, the swell of your backside, the peaks of your breasts, the lines of your shoulders. You set the pace, teasing in some, longer in others, his slender fingers tracing the body he had fantasised about for years. He moaned at every slide and curve, breath stuttering against your mouth and noises faint and delighted, hips pitching weakly at each new feel. His fingers flexed with the urge to explore you harder, faster, to grip you under his palms and slot your body tight against his own.

When you covered his hands with yours and guided him up to squeeze your chest tightly, he faltered spectacularly at the soft skin sliding against his heated palms, and you could see sweat start to collect on the line of his forehead and underneath his collar as his face fell open in raw excitement, hands bracketing your flesh.

Castiel was literally the definition of hot and bothered right now. It was rather exquisite to witness, and set your blood boiling.

“Y/N,” he uttered your name brokenly, hands jittering of their own accord.

You pulled him off of you, a small, upset noise leaving him, but it quickly died in his throat when you guided him to your open legs. Instead of having him taste you, you slowly directed his fingers past your underwear into your wet heat, watching acutely at the way his mouth dropped open and a gasp escaped him, the feeling of you on his hands so very different to the feeling of you through his mouth.

“You’re so _warm_ ,” he said fervidly, hand tracing the seam of your flesh, “and so _wet_.”

“Keep touching,” you instructed him through a breathless moan, removing your hands. “Don’t stop unless I tell you to.”

He couldn’t even if he had wanted to.

As he continued with learning your body with his hands, you moved to the front of his slacks which were tented obscenely with his own arousal. You made quick work of his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down. Something like relief left Castiel’s mouth, the pressure on his front much alleviated as you undid his pants, but that morphed into intense pleasure as your hands slipped into the weave of his underwear to wrap around the thick, solid erection in there.

“Y… Y/N,” he moaned around a hitch of breath, head dropping into the crook of your neck, hand pausing. “ _Y/N_ …”

“Keep going,” you repeated, the edge of your voice hardening a little.

He renewed his efforts, fingers twisting dexterously against you as you pulled your hand back out to lick it, slickening it before dipping back in to grip him in a slippery, tight hold. He groaned loudly as you started to stroke him in long strokes and gentle squeezes, and he faltered once again when your other hand joined in to cup his balls, making him jerk violently into your touch with a filthy, wrecked moan.

“Y/N,” he gasped, eyes screwed shut.

“Tell me,” you said almost calmly, your voice trembling with his fingers dipping through your entrance, and you rolled him gently in your palm, making his entire body shiver in pleasure. “Did you ever think about this?”

He pushed into you, gentle and slow, drawing back out with a twist that had you clenching tightly around his hand, and he let out a dark noise as you mirrored the motion around his erection. “Yes.”

“Often?”

He was sucking on his bottom lip as his free hand rested against the crook of your thigh and hip, and as he pushed back into you again his thumb curved against the ball of your clit in a way that had your hands tightening around him. He grunted, pitching himself into the tight heat of your fist.

His lack of response made you grin, and you picked up the pace as his head fell into the junction of your neck and shoulder as you turned your head to mouth at the shell of his ear. “I believe I asked you a question, Castiel. Perhaps you didn’t understand me. Allow me to rephrase.”

You drew a finger upwards to trace softly around the seeping slit of his tip, and he jerked hard in your hand with a decadent sound that you felt everywhere. “Did you think of me often? In the dark recesses of your mind, when you were alone, did you let your perverted fantasies overcome you?”

The noise that left his mouth was hot and searing, and he was thrusting spiritedly into your hand, rapidly losing himself in the pleasure of your thumb circling the crown of his erection. His own hand was working faster between your legs, the wetness of you making the motions loud and dirty and fantastically arousing.

Somewhere far away, you knew that this was _not_ the retribution that Castiel deserved, but the tide of emotion and the scent of the angel in front of you proved to be too strong against your weakening willpower.

He would always be your downfall, and you knew that, even if he didn’t.

You carried on moving your hand in firm, fluid strokes that had him keening against you. “Did it become too much for you in the end? All those images, all that heat? Did you find somewhere alone, somewhere where you could be uninterrupted whilst you thought of me underneath you, breathless for you? Did you touch yourself? Did you touch yourself at the thought of being buried _right here?_ ” You emphasised your words with a thrust against his fingers, and Heaven help you, you had never found Castiel as attractive as you did now; wild and erratic and pitching himself desperately against your moving hands.

“ _Yes_ ,” he whispered savagely, hand on your hip gripping to bruising strength, other fingers buried in your slick sex. “ _Yes_.”

“Did you lose your control? Did you find your release with the image of me in your mind? Did you debase yourself to the pleasures of the body, Castiel?”

His response was a heated sound that rumbled through the cavern of his chest.

This was… this was spectacular to see him like this.

You carried on greedily, needing more of his reaction. “Did you swallow your moans, or did you groan freely? Did you moan my name? In those dirty fantasies of yours, did I moan yours?”

He let out a wrecked sound at that, and you smirked at having hit a raw nerve. The arousal in the air was so much that you couldn’t tell where his ended and yours began.

“Is that what you fantasise about, Castiel? When you’re alone and you’re hard and desperate in your own hand, do you think of me underneath you? Do I beg for you? Do I ache for you? Do I _moan_ for you? Do I cry your name with passion, _Castiel?_ ”

You moaned it for him now, a low, sultry moan that started from the base of your throat and grew, rolling across your tongue and out of your mouth, hot and unrestrained.

He came with a loud, startled noise, the sound of his name on your lips being what finally drove him over the edge, body shaking violently in the explosion of pleasure.

It barely lasted a second however, as luminous blue light instantly appeared and swirled over him. Your grace pulsed through him quickly, taking hold of his orgasm, halting it, and _withdrawing it completely_.

You felt his surprise like a cold wash.

Using only your grace, you had reverted Castiel back to the desperate, aching need he was in before, teetering on the edge and pulling away that sweet completion he had felt for the barest hint of a second.

Now, _that_ was torture.

His head snapped back up to stare you, fractured gasping and wide-set eyes making you smile slightly, and you could feel the shock, the disbelief and the disappointed _ache_ emanate off of him in cloying waves.

“Y/N,” he panted, head dropping back down with a dry sob. “Please –”

“On _my_ terms, Castiel,” you reminded him calmly. “And perhaps you should remember that you left your brothers and sisters to the hands of Metatron before you attempt to complain about the denial of your _pleasure_.”

He swallowed audibly, guilt eating through his frustration again, pulsing dark and overwhelming, and he nodded slowly after a moment.

“I apologise,” he said eventually, trying to control his breathing. “You’re right – I didn’t think.”

“That seems to be a running theme of yours,” you said, with a little jest.

Amazingly, he laughed tenderly into your skin. “You make it very difficult to think at all.”

That made your body glow warmly, the animosity you felt for him continuing to crumble. You were losing yourself in him, and fast.

“Lie down,” you commanded him softly, removing his fingers out of your legs and gesticulating to the floor.

He glanced at you, bewildered, before slowly doing as you asked and lying down to where you had pointed, eyes growing wide when you followed and dropped to crouch over him, directly above his head with your knees either side of his face.

You looked down at him, and he understood the action, readying himself.

He swallowed hard, beautiful hands skimming up and down your thighs, and he opened his mouth wordlessly, leaning forward.

“Very good,” you praised him, a pulse of pleasure winding through you. “But this time…” You trailed off, pulling his hands off of your legs to hold them down either side of his head, repositioning yourself so that your knees pinned them to the ground, your sex hovering just above his face. “No hands, Castiel. I want you to _really_ put that mouth of yours to work this time.”

“Anything you wish, Y/N,” he said hotly, breath coming out in hard bursts, the ache pulsing brighter.

“Good soldier,” you commended, and the praise made his eyes flutter in pleasure, the name rolling through his body with a shudder.

He brushed his open mouth along the skin of your inner thighs, making you quiver. With a deep inhale, he tipped his head upwards to mouth against your sex again, warm breath heating your skin as his teeth closed around the fabric of your underwear.

_Oh_ , that was such a glorious sight to see – Castiel’s teeth wrapped around your underwear while you held him down – that it sent a fresh wave of slick arousal to your sex, and had he been powered up like you, he would have suffocated in your emotion. Thankful that he was not, you felt yourself clench at the brush of his lips against your clit when he used his teeth to move your underwear to the side, leaving you open to his mouth.

The moment his tongue was on you, you felt your body quake, the unbelievable pleasure rolling through you as he licked you from back to front in one long, teasing swipe, sucking lightly on your clit.

You inhaled sharply as he slowly breached your entrance with the slow draw of his tongue, rolling it through your sensitive walls and emitting a low, throaty noise that vibrated deliciously through your soft, wet cavern.

You gasped his name, pitching your hips against him, and his satisfaction at hearing his name from you like that flared brightly in your mind, coupled with something a lot like possessiveness as he started to tongue fuck you mindlessly.

Your head fell back in bliss as you cradled his head, and he was moaning furiously against you, chest rising and falling with the effort to keep breathing. His hands flexed hard underneath your knees, the urge to touch you incessant and distracting.

Nevertheless, he carried on, tip of his tongue withdrawing to flick at the hard ball of your clit, soothed with the soft, sensual suck of his lips. The teasing whisper of his tongue rimming the seam of your sex had you moaning his name embarrassingly loud, causing the satisfaction you could feel from him to grow dark and perverted and prideful.

He enjoyed having this effect on you. He relished your reactions, your noises, and he wanted to draw every one of them from you, with the knowledge that he had been the one to do it, and he alone.

You couldn’t fault him – a hot spurt of jealous anger arose at the idea of Castiel doing this with someone else – you understood the reasons beneath his emotions.

You blamed the fact that you hadn’t climaxed with his fingers on you, along with the fact that he was actually extraordinarily gifted with his mouth, but regardless of the reasons you were crashing over the edge moments later, shaking hard against his face as he pulled you into another orgasm with his tongue drawing in and out of your sensitive entrance. You fell forward, hands bracketing against the floor on either side of his head as your orgasm wracked through every single cell of your body, only heightened by the fact that it was Castiel giving it to you.

Still shaking, you rolled off of his head when the quivering died down, taking a moment to gather yourself before rising to stand on weak, trembling legs, and he drew to his feet soon after, staring at you heavy-lidded.

“How… Where would…” He cleared his throat to try again, awkward and fumbling. “What would you next have of me?” He looked up at you through the slant of his eyelids, and you could feel wisps of something curling in the heat of his excitement.

Trepidation? No, that wasn’t it.

Fear? No.

Hopefulness?

Yes. But what was Castiel hoping for?

You got your answer from the way his eyes danced down your body, tongue laving at the swell of his bottom lip. Barely noticeable, minute actions, but you saw. You could feel his lust cover you like a luscious caress, and he swallowed, the bob of his throat drawing your thoughts forward.

You answered him silently by pulling him into you by the lapels of his coat with a searing kiss, too tired to pretend that this wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You kissed each other fiercely, hungry and insatiable, hands roaming everywhere.

Somewhere, a line had been crossed, and now it was no longer about punishment, about Castiel atoning for his sins. It had changed, your feelings for one another pouring freely through your touches and kisses. The air was charged, vibrating thickly with need and want and _lust_.

You spun him around and backed him roughly against the edge of the table, making him groan in slight pain when his legs collided harshly with it, but you paid it no mind as you wordlessly pushed him onto the table and guided him to lie down on the flat of it. You followed him instantly, climbing onto his legs and crawling on your hands and knees as he shimmied up the surface until he was prostrate on it, drawing you down to him and licking all that crazy heat back into your mouth.

“Pull your underwear down,” you said against his lips, no longer in the mood to draw this out.

He complied willingly, hands practically ripping the material as he wrenched them down his thighs, hands moving to the backs of your legs and cupping the swell of your backside.

You let out a surprised moan as his fingers dipped underneath your underwear and pulled them over your backside and down your legs, and you made them disappear with a wave of your grace as his mouth descended onto the line of your jaw, raining butterfly kisses along the bone of it.

You pulled away from his mouth and gripped his chin, turning it sharply to the right and moving down to bite down his throat, feeling the vibration of his sounds against your mouth and you soothed the bites with languid licks of your tongue.

His grip on your legs grew tight and he pawed desperately at your skin, pitching his hips upward in a pleading gesture.

“What do you want, Castiel?” you asked him against the line of his throat.

“You,” he said sincerely. “I want _you_.”

Your laughter whispered against his collarbone as you settled above his groin. You fisted his hair tightly, watching his mouth drop open and hearing a soft, drawn-out moan escape.

“As you wish,” you said quietly, lowering yourself onto him in one smooth, solid motion.

The sound that dropped from Castiel’s mouth was raw, decadent and _loud_ , but you barely registered at as you lost yourself in the slide of his hard flesh through your wet flesh. His body tightened in response, hips thrusting upwards to meet yours until you felt the hard planes of his thighs bump your own.

You paused a moment, breathing hard at just the feel of Castiel buried inside you, and if you thought that _that_ felt exquisite, it was _nothing_ compared to the erotic sight of Castiel underneath you, hair ruffled in every direction, clothes rumpled, skin flushed red, eyes shut and small, gasping breaths stuttering from those lovely lips.

You groaned low and long, hands palming the strong flat of his covered chest, and his hands slid up your thighs to grip your hips, heat crawling everywhere at the sensuous touch.

Shifting your weight onto your arms, you lifted yourself slowly, wet heat dragging across turgid flesh as you reached the top of his erection, only to drop back down on it, making him cry out, head tossing back and forth.

“Please, please, please,” he begged, “let me help you. Ah, Y/N, _please_ –”

You moaned his name, nodding, and you felt his arousal _flare_ , hands tightening solidly around you.

He shifted his feet to plant them firmly on the wood of the table, using them as leverage to lift you up and then slam you back down onto him, body shaking with the need and the effort. He did it again, but this time you drove your hips downward to meet him halfway, the feeling delicious and sweet.

You fell into a rhythm within one another, hips thrusting up and down, grinding against one another, swallowing each other’s noises as you bent down to kiss him, and all through it he kept up a breathless mantra of your name, countered by your continuous mewl of his.

You changed your position, spreading your legs further open and leaning back against his legs to get a solid, dirty grind against him, moaning at the shallow slide of him through you.

“This,” he groaned suddenly, after a particularly seductive roll of your hips.

“What?” you breathed down at him, confused.

“When I… touch myself,” he whispered, staring up at you through glassy eyes, “this is the image that throws me over the edge. You riding me, moaning my name.”

You chuckled in surprise. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re nearing your end?”

“Yes,” he said around a wrecked sound as you shifted once more, driving him deeper into you. “I can’t… I can’t hold it back… It feels too –”

“Then come,” you said without any explanation. “This time, I want to feel you.”

He bit his lip, exhaling hard around as you began to increase your speed, the slick sounds of you intertwining with his moans. A slender hand slid up to thrum your clit, and you jerked at the volt of pleasure it caused.

You leant down to kiss him, sucking his tongue into your mouth as he breathed hard against your lips, one hand on the curve of your backside and the other working deftly on your bud, drawing you closer to your edge.

“Y/N,” he gasped, body snapping taut and back bowing as he came hard, and you rode him through it as he cried out against your mouth, shaking with the intensity of it, hands frozen on you as he nearly blacked out with white hot pleasure.

It was several moments before you felt his body relax, collapsing boneless and sucking in huge gulps of air as you brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.

You kissed him gently, pulling his hand away from between your legs as you worked yourself, letting him rest and watch you as you pleasured yourself with him still buried inside you. You came moments later, the image of him coming rapidly accelerating your orgasm, and he let out a sound of awe and pleasure as he felt you pulse around him, rubbing your thighs as your climax waved through you.

You collapsed on top of him, unable to move except to turn your head into the crook of his hot neck, and as his arms slid around you to hold you to him you couldn’t help but feel that this felt so right, that this was what things should have been like.

You stayed like that for a while, content with basking in the afterglow of your passion and just being close with one another, but soon reality came crashing back down, and with it, the unanswered question of Castiel’s fate.

You pulled back, slipping off of him with a sensitive wince and pulsed your grace across the pair of you, cleaning you both up and fixing your clothes into a more presentable state. You climbed off of him and he followed suite, anxiety replacing his dimming arousal.

“What… what will become of me?” he queried, licking his lips apprehensively.

You looked at him almost casually, knowing that, sometimes, a look like that could drive even the most strong-headed beings insane with insecurity.

“What will become of you indeed?” you countered serenely.


End file.
